Friend in Shadows
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: Mazn'reysla was a young drow who properly feared and worshipped Lolth, until he started to have some doubts. Then he made a new friend showed him a different way. Two part story
1. Part 1

**Friend in Shadows**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of Wizards of the Coast ©.

Author's Note: This is the first in a two part story about the most fateful night in the life of a young drow. Those who have read some of my other stories will be familiar with the character of Mazn'reysla Sshemlet and know what happens to him after this story, but here's the story of how it all happened. This is the first piece I have done with an original character in too long a time, so reviews are not only appreciated but begged for.

"Friend in Shadows" is rated M for graphic depictions of violence, mostly related to self-mutilation. As an important note: if you or anyone else you know is hurting themselves, please seek professional help in some form.

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The floor was cold.

It was the only thought I allowed through my mind.

I was taking part in a typical ritual that night; sitting on the floor in my room in Sorcere, reading my tomes and trying to concentrate on tomorrow's lessons. _Concerning the Creation of Undead, level one_, that was the book I was reading then; the work book for my Necromancy class. I had to read a hundred pages before tomorrow and Master Tlabber was in no way forgiving of pathetic apprentices who didn't read their rudiments; I still have the scars on my shoulder from when his fingernails pressed through my skin as he grabbed me and recited the incantation directly in my face.

It was my sixth year in Menzoberranzan's academy of wizards and I needed to study. I was the secondborn of House Sshemlet, then the thirtieth house. The only thing we were good for was trading in magical items and artifacts from the surface and all over the Underdark. Ours was a tradition of the arcane; the arcane was Lolth's gift to the drow and it was the duty of every Sshemlet to be proficient in the Art. Even my Matron Mother Zethia, a skilled High Priestess of the Spider Queen, was a wizard of repute. It made her even more powerful and terrible. The same was true of my five sisters, my older brother Alsdrel, and every Patron of House Sshemlet.

It was my duty to Lolth to learn the arcane arts, it was the only way I could be worth anything as a pathetic male, and study I did. That night I was on the fourth day of my fast. I didn't need food. I needed focus. I needed discipline. I needed to scour myself. I needed to keep my thoughts in order lest they stray to more unpleasant matters.

I was, however, highly distractible. It was only three hours before my eyes would wander up the wall to the cracks in the stone, the nice, full desk filled with my tomes and those of my roommate, and all the tapestries the Masters kept on the walls on pain of torture. For some reason the tacky black imprint of a shadow dragon was making me nauseous. Then there was the other tapestry on the wall adjacent: the one by the door and hanging over his bookcase of spellbooks. It was a red tapestry weaved with the delicate details of a barbed web and the grand, terrible looking black spider in the center. For some reason, this bothered me even more and I didn't know why.

It was the exact same reason why our nightly chapel meeting also made me ill and why I couldn't even look at the grand, spider-shaped structure of Arach-Tinilith, the school for priestesses. I, however, did not care to think on that reason at the time; a reason that made me even more ill. I was a devout servant of Lolth. I had learned from my first moments out of the womb that I was the Spider Queen's minion; her feast. I was a male and therefore inferior. The only way I could win any worth in my pathetic existence was to be useful to her. It was a reality that was beaten into my skull and I never questioned it. To question was to die horribly.

I knew this, yet I did flinch from the tapestry, my already empty stomach sinking further. I was beholding the image of the Spider Queen. How dare I flinch from such terrible power? Such terrible power that could rip me apart, strip the skin from my muscles a tiny piece at a time. Just like my Matron Mother did to father. Nelizzin Sshemlet was no mere piece of magical fodder after all; he was the High Wizard and Patron of House Sshemlet. I saw him decapitate a kobold slave with one well-placed magic missile. Regardless, he was still chained to the wall of the House Sshemlet antechamber and Matron Mother spent two hours peeling his black flesh a tiny strip at a time as he screamed. Sister held me by the scruff of the neck and forced my gaze to make sure I understood the mighty wrath of those who even make the smallest joke against the Spider Queen. Father was a heretic and father deserved to bleed to death in complete agony. Or at least that's what Matron Mother Zethia told me over and over again.

Regardless, I still flinched, though I should not have reacted so. I should have averted my gaze in fear and felt the terrible power in my heart. Yet I didn't. I wanted to think I flinched in fear, though the feeling of hate was too strong. Did I hate her? Of course, even my mother did. This, however, was a different kind of hate, a kind of hate that could get my skin peeled from me. It was a sensation I first knew m second year at Sorcere. In my House I knew my proper hate. The further away from the house I was, the more I felt the taunts of the priestesses in chapel, and the more my peers would spit on me and attack me, the more the sensation came. Now, I could no longer ignore the thoughts and bury myself further in my studies. The hate pushed through that too.

I drew further inward at the thought, grinding my bare heel against a jagged cropping of rock from the floor and savored the burning itch. I needed to scour myself. I needed to stop the horrible thoughts of blasphemy.

This couldn't be happening, I would think more and more as the thoughts pushed through my mind. I was once a good little boy; perfectly obedient, always praying, always fearing, always knowing his place as a miniscule male in a minuscule House. I used to be merely a piece of meat who scrubbed floors…in the name of Lolth of course. Then I became a tool…in Lolth's service as a wizard in a house that saw magic as a power best used in the name of…

At last my mind went blank and the heel pressed further against the jagged rock, producing an ache that felt warm and slick. I looked up again, trying to regain my lacking focus. I was completely alone: roommate was off studying or carousing or killing someone or taking advantage of one of the younger students as he was known to do. Just like the next patron, of my house; the one after Father who took more interest in me, the one who would corner me in the lower chambers, make me kneel before him and …

The floor was cold. The cold felt good.

I breathed deeply, trying to catch my focus and be a good little apprentice once more. I was alone, utterly alone. Back at House Sshemlet, I was never alone. There were always the ghosts to keep me company: Teery the kobold who had once been a slave, yet still served his masters even after being beheaded. Then there were the old weapon masters who still wandered the halls around the training room; clutching their tools of survival in their hands and paraded around in denial of their torturous deaths. They were never really friendly, but at least they were someone. None of the ghosts attacked me; they were mere ghosts. Besides, no other member of the House could see them except for me, who saw them plain as faerie fire.

Brother found this out and told Matron Mother Zethia. Since that day, I would be locked in the basement with a violent wraith to see how well I could control him; a former House Patron who was boiled in oil still looked like a lump of melted flesh in humanoid form. Control him I did, though the gibbering wraith of a vivisected orc slave in another section of the house slammed my head against the stone wall, but was I brought him under control because that was what I was for. Matron Mother had Brother focus my Sight more during those first arcane lessons. He would have me scry while whipping me to improve my concentration. After a while, all I saw were ghosts. All I heard in my mind were their laughs and taunts, though I managed to filter the messages. I would hear rumors about people and use them against them. I couldn't use his sight at Sorcere though. The tower was too heavily warded against such creatures. Instead I was left alone. Utterly alone.

No, I must not get distracted. I must get back to my work and master the arcane like a good little slave…

No, must not think such things. Must look at the spider. Look at the spider, Mazn'reysla and feel as fearful of her as you were before you came to this place. Feel as fearful and loyal to your Spider Queen as you always have, as you still do. Nothing's changed. Nothing has altered your absolute devotion.

The next thing I knew, my chin was against my chest.

Look at the spider, Mazn'reysla.

My head came up one inch, but my neck seemed to cramp.

Look at the gods damned spider, Mazn'reysla!

My head at last sprang up as his eyes fixed on the terrible image of the spider in the tapestry. I examined every little embroidered hair on her body, every cruel barb on all her eight, graceful legs, every cold, glowing eye. I stared at the spider, absorbing it in my cursed, damned soul. This is what I should fear; this is who I should worship. I gazed at the spider. My muscles trembled and my stomach lurched, but I still stared…

…Then burst out crying, burying my damn head in my hands and falling to a fetal position on the cold floor where I stayed for a few seconds. The floor was cold. The cold felt good.

The fit passed. I sprang to a sit, trying to stabilize myself, though nothing was working. I had to move from that spot, I had to sit at the desk properly and read my book like a good little male. Master Tlabber is not merciful to those who do not read their lessons. I came to my knees, which threatened to collapse repeatedly. At last I crawled to the work desk a few feet behind me, on my hands and knees like I should. I finally felt good, then I felt sick. I came up to the chair and lifted myself up to it. It was a simple stone chair covered with red velvet. It always hurt my eyes, a burn I had to savor. I leaned down and grabbed the heavy tome, heaving it up and almost dropping it a few times. I plopped it on the desk, opening it to the space I had it. I remembered the exact line of incantation. It was the same line when I started feeling my blasphemy again. My eyes were bleary as I found a focus on the many books and spell components strewn around on the desk and the four shelves over it.

At one time, I could just sit here and work with these many tools and feel completely at ease, my mind put to a more useful purpose than the streams of doubt that would crawl in otherwise. I could sit here and know that I wasn't indeed blaspheming Lolth through my idle thoughts, but instead serving her as the obedient male I was. I was but a male and a male he had to prove he was worth something, lest he be tied up and have his skin stripped from him like Father.

At last my mind cleared a little of my blasphemy and I went back to my study. I did allow my eyes to trail to my favorite penknife on the edge of the desk; a nice, long blade I stole from Brother. It was very nice; its handle was wrapped in black rothé hide, though I was never able to get out that pesky blood stain from before. The blade was mithril; long and razor sharp. I always used it to prepare spell components. It was also great for scouring my thoughts. I would sometimes put little slices in my skin when my thoughts became too blasphemous; tiny enough so I could feel their ache. Sometimes I would rub in salt to make the point clear to myself. The blade still had a few drops of blood on it from the last time, but I tried to keep it clean otherwise. I guess I was losing my focus.

I pried my eyes off the blade and turned back to the book at last. It was time to do my work. It was time to learn my lessons like a good little male, lest I be turned into meat…

You must learn your lessons; you must show Lolth you are good for something.

Oh no, the thoughts were coming again. I must study. The page was on pried the proper preparation of the corpses of rats so they could be raised as little zombies: a spell I would learn in later this year. My fingers trailed around the book; I needed to so something to keep my focus, so I allowed myself to fidget a little. I clutched the penknife on the desk as I read beginning process of preparing the corpse for raising.

I mouthed the description of the preparation. My foot hurt and I was cold. I continued my concentration, but I felt my heart beat rapidly; my concentration was waning and going back to those thoughts.

It was becoming a little harder to pry out the thoughts, but I had to. Now the thoughts were not going away. The thoughts…or the reality?

My lips trembled as I read the steps of preparation in a harsh whisper. It was better than silence. I trained one finger along the lines while gripping the rothé hide handle of the penknife a little harder.

It was working, yes, that's it, just continue reading. You're doing well; just continue reading and conveniently ignoring how much the Spider Queen is torturing you for no purpose other than her own enjoyment.

The burn in the pit of my stomach became agonizing and very part of my form turned numb. My left hand gently pushed the book away as I turned in his chair to face the tapestry of the spider.

Yes, stare at her. Know how you are nothing in her eyes.

Tears started to flow again. My grip on the handle of the knife became greater. Get back to your book, Mazn'reysla; get back to your book. It's just the stress of your next test. You are just overworking yourself…

…In the name of Lolth who will merely tear you apart anyway no matter how hard you study. Just like Father.

I slowly raised the penknife in front of his face, admiring the deadly beauty of the blade next to the deadly beauty…or was it terror, or was it just plain senseless fear over…

I looked down to his right hand, raising it slightly and trying to keep it from trembling as I lowered the penknife over it.

Yes, this is what she could do to you if you don't get back to your work like a good little slave.

The blade gently angled downward and lowered. Now the point was pressing against the side of my index finger. Now it was piercing my flesh and I regarded little but a steady trickle of blood. The blade sliced downward, prying open my flesh down the length of my finger with an aching burn. It had to hurt more. I must scourge myself.

This is what happened to father. The thought managed to float through my head as I took my eyes off my mangled finger and back to the spider tapestry. This is what Lolth would do to you. Better know what it feels like…when she learns of your blasphemy.

The blade slid out of my skin, peeling up slightly before being trained on my middle finger and slicing a bit deeper to the point where it started to ache more.

Scour your…own thoughts?

The blade was scraping against bone as it traveled down. A river of blood flowed down my arm.

Scour yourself in the name of some goddess who hates you anyway?

The blade went from the bottom of my middle finger to the bottom of my ring finger and trailing up, peeling flesh and causing an agonizing burn.

Savor it, heretic! Savor your own mind.

The blade found its way to my pinkie and sliced diagonally, trailing around the edge of my aching hand and slicing across the bottom of my wrist.

You are going to cut your tendons that way, I thought to myself. You will lose the use of one hand, you won't be able to gesture and you won't have any use to Lolth. But is that such a bad thing?

The point of the blade caught under the skin as the flat was raised. The pain was agonizing. I felt more ill, yet I had to sit and savor it. I had to scour my mind from its blasphemy. I had to purge the taint by peeling the black skin upward and trying to tear it.

This is what Father felt when he upset the Spider Queen. This is what you deserve. This is what you will get if you don't stop this nonsense now and go back to Lolth. Yes, look at the tapestry Mazn'reysla, look at the tapestry. Look at her terrible wrathful beauty. Look at the bitch who killed your father and violated your body in the name of her own…

I withdrew the blade and threw it across the room; my uninjured hand reaching into a black box and pulling out a ritual athame I used in class: the one with the black handle shaped like a curled-up spider and the blade oh so magically sharp. I then dug the tip of the dagger's blade into the book and shoved it off, flopping it on the floor with a loud thud. I slammed my mangled hand onto the desk and raised the tip of the blade over my wrist.

I lowered the blade. One good thrust could send it through my wrist and a few more slices would take my hand off. It was what I deserved. My family would kill me for this, but it was my own sacrifice to Lolth. It was the only thing I could do.

Then I heard a voice from the corner.

"Is that truly the answer to all your inner torment?" it said, echoing through every part of my soul.

I jumped, throwing the athame on the desk with a yelp. My body trembled violently, my mind not able to even register what happened. I turned around to the part of the room where I swore I heard the voice.

It was a mass of shadow over my Reverie couch, though my Sight caught an odd thing; the outline of a figure underneath it. It was the shape of a black mask. I focused further and the figure of a drow materialized in the shadow, a drow reclining on against the wall, black hands behind his mane of green hair. His tunic was billowing black silk, black leather trousers that conformed to the shape of his well-built legs. One high, black boot was slung over his bent knee as his glowing green eyes bore through a blood-red mask.

I sat still, a river of blood running down my hand as I regarded this being wearing a look of relaxed perplexity. This was no mortal, though his aura was not the typical pattern of a specter. An energy wafted from the being's form that I had never felt before…or had I? Wait, this was the same energy from the great temples and any building where a high ritual was taking place. It was the energy of a deity, but this energy was not that of Lolth.

I couldn't help but stare in awe. This was a godform.


	2. Part 2

**Friend in Shadows**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of Wizards of the Coast ©.

Part 2

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The figure casually came to a sit, a smile forming on his handsome, youthful, yet ageless face.

"If you would like my opinion," the being said, "I do not find that wise. Though you seem to be going through great torment, which will not be solved by cutting yourself apart."

I knew tears were still streaming down my face. I knew my hand was searing. My eyes were only locked on this figure kicking one leg over his knee as he regarded me calmly. My ears could only hear a few of my own whimpers. My gaze locked with his no matter how much I tried not to put myself in that position. I just couldn't help it; his green eyes were like huge beams that begged for my attention.

"Though I cannot say I can blame you at all," he said, his voice near a low growl. "You have been put through absolute hell, Mazn'reysla of House Sshemlet."

I felt my eyes narrow as a glorious sensation finally burrowed its way through my numb form; the feeling of suspicion. It was the one sensation reminding me I was indeed alive and had not died of shock. The being's hair faded to bright blue as did his glowing eyes.

"Of course I know who you are," he said. "I know everything about you: the secondboy of the thirtieth house, which is worth nothing more than a trade port for illicit magical items. You are in your sixth year in Sorcere, a Diviner if I recall correctly. I also know about your unfortunate father, though I thought he was a self-serving ass. As for Patron Reznth, your loving, affectionate step-father, he didn't die in a wizard's duel…" the figure leaned against the wall, cupping a hand around his mouth as if he was telling a secret, "…that fleshy weapon he inflicted on you was cut off by a prostitute he tried to vivisect. I think you would appreciate that bit of information."

I couldn't help but chuckle a little. The figure laughed out loud, an arrogant cackle that scared and amused me all at the same time. Another mass of shadow surrounded his form as he floated to his nimble feet and slowly walked over to me, an almost feral look in his eyes that I did not fear at all. At last he was standing over me, blue eyes fading to red as he reached a hand down to my cuts. My first instinct was to flinch, yet it was too late for that; my palm was against his and is felt warm. He knelt down beside me, meeting my gaze again. The being gently clasped my mangled hand, a touch that stung at first, but gradually felt better. A delicate, yet powerful finger put the skin back in place and traced the edge of the cut over my wrist.

"You're instructors think you are a promising student," he continued, his finger glowing as I felt the warmth of my skin reattaching itself, though a deep scar was still in place. "A promising student everyone is tripping over themselves to exploit. You do well in your classes like a good little slave." I couldn't help but laugh about this, for the situation was far too ridiculous now. "Though I do think you need to live a little; don't be afraid to have a few drinks and a few fucks. I do, however, think you would be wasting your time on the Do'Urden secondboy, the one you ogled so often; he already has so many other things stuffed tightly up that cute little ass of his. That doesn't mean all hope is lost."

I laughed again despite myself and he joined in with a cackle; his hair fading to bright blue. After a second, it became quiet again.

"So, tell me friend, what compelled you to do this to yourself?" he asked, tracing another cut that almost melted into place.

I sat still and felt as if all the wind had been sucked from me; a sensation that combined with the itching burn of my cuts being slowly closed.

"I don't assume this is just another way to kill time, though I've seen weirder ways," he continued, his hair and eyes turning green.

I still sat silent. For some reason I knew I was damned if I said anything, yet this being's presence made me damned anyway. The godform leaned in and I felt his eyes boring through my soul, probing it intensely.

"I actually know the reason, I'm just wondering if you are going to tell me," he said with a smug smile. "Do you want to know how I know?"

I said nothing, only averting my gaze and looking at the floor. His hand clasped mine harder, the burn becoming a bit more strong.

"Your soul told me," he continued in a soothing voice that still dripped ice. "You can only try to censor your thoughts long enough, though you can never deny the hurt of your soul. We godforms have a tendency of picking up the screams of souls. Eventually, the screaming becomes so loud that you can no longer ignore it, and believe me, yours is practically deafening."

My gaze never left the stone floor, yet my heart hung into my stomach. It was all true, there was no denying it.

"Now why would your soul have any reason to scream, Maz my boy?" he asked, tracing another cut with his glowing finger and releasing a stinging warmth.

I think I blinked a few times, but I knew this was communicating so much more to the being than my own words ever could.

You idiot, you are not hiding your emotions! This thing is a messenger from Lolth and he has come to destroy you! You must fight this! You must fight…Lolth?

"You might as well tell me, son," he continued, his breath hot against my face. "I already know of your thoughts against…a certain form of deity."

I tried to keep in control, but my muscles were shaking. I must fight this! I must not accept this…the absolute truth.

"I see you going about your daily business with a building hate in your heart," the being continued. "You look at every spider you come across and want to just smash it. Not only do you not, you cut yourself up for even thinking about it in the first place. Now what would happen if you let those forbidden thoughts out? You would be cut apart, you think, you would know a myriad of tortures, the next more terrible than the first. At least that's what you have been told a thousand times a day at the end of a whip or a scourge. And you have never thought to question that, until now."

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, my internal screams to fight this all but silenced by the wave of sad warmth through every part of my being. I must fight this!

"And why are you here telling me this," I snapped through a heavy sob. "If you want to torture me, you bastard, get it done with and have your fun."

His hair faded to purest gold and a wide grin crept over his face.

"So we have unleashed the beast after all," he said, "so there's hope for you after all. No, I am not here to torture you. Nor will I run screaming to Lolth. I'll tell you a little secret." He leaned in my ear, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I don't get along too well with Lady Lolth. I'd even go so far as to call her my enemy. Would you believe that? And she has never been able to cut me up, though she sure would love to. Regardless, she has never laid her spiky little hands on me. Do you know why? Because I am me, that's why. Do you know who I am?"

My lips made a few futile quivers, though he continued looking at me patiently. It was a look that not suggest that I would be torn into pieces unless I answered right away, it was actually somewhat warm, a gaze I had never known before.

"Well, you aren't a spider," I said, my voice trembling still. "You can't be Selvetarum."

He threw his head back and let out a cackle that made my hair stand on end.

"No, indeed I am not," he laughed while pulling back a little.

I furrowed my eyebrows and looked at him. My blank mind suddenly recalled a story I had heard a long time ago about a wicked demon. This demon, according to the stories, occasionally appears to students and corrupts them to hand over their souls. He always appears as the floating shadow of a half-mask. No, this couldn't be him, I thought. But my Sight was always right.

"Wait, I've heard of you," I said. He threw his nose in the air, the smile not fading at all. "You are the one they call Vhaeraun."

"Oh," he huffed. "And what else do they call me?"

"'The Masked God,' the 'Supreme Heretic'…"

"'The Corruptor', he who eats souls…" he continued. "Yes, that would be me, but only half the rumors are true.

"Which half?" I continued naturally.

His hair faded to a bright shade of gold as did his dancingly wicked eyes.

"I like you already," he said. "And I know we can be great friends if you would allow it. I am here to rescue you, Mazn'reysla the poor little male who can be so many more things if he just let his soul have its peace."

I wanted to scream at him, punch him, deny him, and fall crying into his arms all at the same time. It was true and I could no longer deny it any more. The peeled skin on my hand, which the Masked God was tracing with his glowing finger and mending more, said everything. He looked at me thoughtfully again and for some reason I felt safe with him. I hung my head and nodded, but no words came out. It was only a few stray tears that became heavier. For some reason I felt that I could cry in front of him and he wouldn't mind.

"That's it," Vhaeraun said stiffly, patting my shoulder, "let it all out. Do not let the pain and guilt destroy you any more." I looked at him and saw his smile. He was watching me and enjoying this, though it did not feel as if he was savoring my pain like everyone else. "Yours is a story I have heard millions of times over my long life; the young male who serves Lolth by destroying himself like a good boy, yet starts getting the tingle that this maybe not what he wants to do. He forgets it and dies casually in Lolth's name, he is found out and made into a pretty little drider, or he turns to me."

"You have something to offer me?" I sobbed. At this time I was willing to listen to anything. My horrible secret was out to the planes, all I could hope for now was a quick death…or maybe.

"I think I am offering it to you already," he said.

My gaze must have been completely blank for he stared at me patiently for a second.

"This is blasphemy," I whispered, not able to fathom everything that was going on.

"Blasphemy for whom?" Vhaeraun asked, a smirk still imprinted on his face. "For Lolth, of course, but the universe does not revolve around her. There are so many other powers besides her Spidery Tyranny, now think about that. Even I'm not arrogant enough to call myself the greatest power in the universe, and I'm pretty damn arrogant." I couldn't help but chuckle a little. I knew I should hold that back, but at this point I didn't care. "Now if you still pray to Lolth and think these things, yes there will be trouble for you, friend. Now if you decide to take a different route, it is your weapon."

I felt the strength to look up at him again and see his smile as all the possibilities swirled through my head. A life without Lolth? Was that possible? All I had ever known in my entire existence was the Spider Queen; every one of her doctrines was slammed into my head. Though why should they?

"Are you mulling over the possibilities?" The Masked Lord said in a tone of mock surprise. "I would definitely call that a grand start."

"And you offer me something different," I said, feeling my voice becoming a bit stronger.

"Anything that will take you away from this nonsense," he said, a hand gesturing around the room. "Am I promising you riches, comfort beyond your understanding? Hells no. Am I offering you a reason to exist as something besides a piece of meat good for fighting, fucking, and sacrificing? What do you think will happen to you once you graduate? I don't need to ask that question because I know the second you leave this tower your servitude truly begins. Is that how you would like to live?"

I found myself shaking my head; my inner blasphemy finally working its way out.

"I know you may think that I'm just trying to manipulate you, leading you to your ultimate death, but that is not the case at all," he said, his tone both comforting and mocking all at the same time. "There is no need to fear me, my boy. I am not going to eat your soul, nor am I going to run off screaming to Lolth about how much of a little blasphemer you are. In fact we are not so much different. Yes, I am a god. You already know that, or you already feel that. Come to mention it, you are the first in a very long while who has ever seen me in my true form when I haven't been formally summoned."

"I have a little…gift," I squeaked out.

Vhaeraun gave a calm smile.

"I knew that," he said "and that is what makes you all the more intriguing. No, to continue my point, I am not a mortal like you, nor am I some demon. Yes, I am a deity, but that is the biggest thing that separates us, Maz my friend. See, I am a male drow not too different from you and your peers, only I have more power; the power to change actually do something about my wretched existence in these caverns and not worry about being ripped apart for it. My purpose has been to share this gift with those I call friend; the gift of being able to call the Lolth the bitch she is and actually work against her tyranny. And I can do this for you, offering you protection so you can help with my little cause."

"Rebellion against Lolth?" I squeaked out with a nervous laugh, finally feeling like I was challenging this creature. "How was that possible? Maybe for you but for me…"

He leaned in and put his face directly into mine and I caught a glimpse into those beautiful red eyes. I could feel the heat wafting from his form. Had I at last offended him?

"Let me tell you the future of the drow as I see it," he continued in a controlled growl. "I see beautiful, terrible Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad and see two cities ready to tear themselves apart at any second. I see Matron Baenre being eaten by her own children and Lady Lolth standing back and savoring it all vicariously. Why? Because she is an insane bitch to put it bluntly."

I winced at this description, but recovered myself quickly; it was all the truth and I knew it. In fact, to hear someone say it out loud was my soul's ultimate release.

"Now, I don't want to run Menzoberranzan or Ched Nasad or the planes entire," he continued almost politely. "If I had my way the entire cursed Underdark would cave in on itself and kill everything crawling in its depths."

"You were banished here by the faerie elves…" I started, at least making an attempt to sound on his side.

"No," he snapped, his hair turning a brighter red. "You have taken your propaganda like a good little boy, but we're obviously beyond that now. What you just said is Lolth's excuse for everything. I didn't want to bore you with a history lesson, but apparently you need it. Corellon did the banishing; I only went against him because he was an ass and Lolth just happened to be going the same way and we all got dragged underneath with her. Instead of admitting that, the Spider Bitch used this as a reason to rally all her slaves and claim her absolute rule while savoring all the chaos. Lolth is pure chaos with no purpose; she loves to see her faithful kill each other. If the entire drow race were to eat each other and be erased from physical existence, she would just sit by and laughing at the whole thing. Now does that seem productive to you?"

I shook my head, just taking in everything he told me. It did not seem like lies, they were far too practical.

"I, on the other hand," he said, his venom waning, "would rather get my formal revenge on the forces that put us here. Now, I am not complaining about the beautiful appearance we were given, of which I have become quite fond. Now I get into my official speech, my reason for being and something I can share with you: I want to go back to a time when the Illithyri made our empire in the lands in which we belong."

"I assume you mean that the Surface…"

"Is our rightful realm and anything Lolth says otherwise is just evidence of not only her madness, but her stupidity as well," Vhaeraun said. "The Surface should be the land of the drow, not these damn tunnels; our queendom of shit and mold. Hence why I come to my people directly and appeal to their sensible natures."

I looked down at the floor for a second, trying to digest everything he told me. At last his hair faded to blue and he started laughing.

"I know, my little speech is a bit boring," he said. "I need to find a nicer message. After all, what should the secondboy of a low house care about the fate of the planes?"

I looked back at him, my face locked with some sort of determination. But this was all too perfect. Here was this…thing telling me if I throw off and curse Lolth, I will be doing so for the betterment of my race. Too perfect indeed.

"Why should I trust you?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound as strong as possible.

"You shouldn't," he replied without pause. "I am a drow and no drow should be trusted, as you already know. I am asking for you to reach into your heart and mind and come up with the solution for yourself. You are the one who is peeling his hand off in the name of his own guilt. If you truly choose to cut your own throat right here and now, I will simply sit patiently and wait for you to enter the Demonweb. The final decision is yours."

I looked at the floor again.

"You are telling me that everything I know is a lie," I said ultimately, finally making some sense of this whole affair.

"The biggest difference between truth and lie is determined my one thing," he said, his smile becoming a bit of a sneer, "whether you believe the oath or not. I want you to mull over that one for a second."

With a float of shadow, he came to his feet and looked down at me. I looked up, meeting his golden gaze.

"I will return to you, Mazn'reysla," he stated. "That is if you wish for me to."

I stayed still for only a second before nodding enthusiastically. I didn't want him to leave, but I could tell by the small pillar of black stone that hung from the wall the Narbondel was at its last light.

"Please come back," I said, trying not to sob, though it happened anyway. "It's good to have someone to talk to."

He looked at me, smiled, and blew me a kiss. A second later, he was a mass of shadows.

I remember closing the book, looking down and seeing my robes completely clean as if nothing had happened, but there were a few drops on the floor. Roommate would never notice; he had walked into this a few times before. I managed to rise from my seat, though my entire form was exhausted. My eyes stung with tears and the feeling of general sick still clung to my form, yet I didn't mind that as much. I managed to pick up my legs and walk over to my Reverie couch in the corner. I plopped down with a deep groan and closed my eyes, instantly falling into one of the most blissful Trances I have ever had. Even as my consciousness faded, I swore I still smelled his hot breath permeating the velvet upholstery.

I actually did manage to read all one hundred pages for my class ad Master Tlabber actually gave me a quiet sneer. I must have done the incantation correctly.

Life continued from that night on, yet nothing was ever the same. I began to see so many things in a different light; seeing everything in my society as the lies they were. I cannot describe the feeling of liberation. If the specter was leading me into Lolth's silky trap, I was at the point where I would jump in willingly. I had seen the alternative and it looked so much more beautiful.

Though this new path was no trap; it was indeed the answers to all the multitude of questions in my heart that I dare never ask before. As he promised, Lord Vhaeraun visited me again a month later and a month after that and so on. He would always come when he knew I was alone, and those times were numerous. We would sit and talk, not just about the divine but about the mundane as well. I felt I could rant about an obnoxious instructor or express an interest in a beautiful form and he listened intently. He even shared with me a few stories from his own life as a deity that could relate. He was always nice like that.

And he always stayed with me; though the difficult lessons, all of the sneers and taunts from my fellow students. He was there with me even more when I attended six months of Arach-Tinilith, the school for the slaves of Lolth. I would merely put on a good show of being afraid, though in my heart I knew Lolth could never have me. My six blissful months at Melee-Magthere followed. No one questioned why I chose the shortsword as my weapon; I was a puny caster after all. At graduation, I willingly took part in the final ceremony; though joining in the many orgies with the passion of a drow under the guise of a slave. It was a fabulous evening.

All through the years, no one ever suspected of my blasphemy. I played the role of a House Wizard well and some members of my house actually started to fear me. No one ever questioned the many times I would slip into the back caverns. No one even knew. But they all would learn that I had indeed changed.

The first person who learned of this was dear Matron Mother Zethia. She was sitting in meditation in the Sshemlet high chapel when my garrote slipped around her neck. I remember her looking back at my smile as I finally choked the life from the cruel bitch. She was about to scream of sacrilege, though too much blood was flowing from those pouty lips to actually make out any words. Her throat cut very nicely and she bled to death in a very slow fashion. I then remember pulling the wire further and taking off her head entirely, then placing her head on the great alter, my final gift to Lolth.

That was the day I planned to leave that horrible place. My friend gave me all the incantations to get past the house wards and showed me the portals that would lead me to the Surface

What did I find there? Well, that's a tale for another day. I will say that I found myself, as clichéd as that may sound. And my friend in shadows walked with me the entire way.

I know that every time I look in the shadows, he will be there. For this, I always feel I am doing much for the individual who taught me that I could actually live.

_-Mazn'reysla Sshemlet  
Cleric of Vhaeraun,  
High Priest from Clan Auzcovyn of Cormanthor  
16 day of Ches, The Year of Lightening Storms 1374 DR_


End file.
